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A 

DOQ-DAY JOURNAL 


BLOSSOM DRUM ' 


THE 

Hbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

XonDon NEW YORK Montreal 






THH 1JSSARY OF 
CO'JO'TESS, 
Two OuHfcS fteo€(vE» 

JAN, 2 m7. 

Cw^><IOHT ENTRY 

<ip.c.-.3c ~ f^Of 
CLASS Ct XXo, Mo. 
2. 3 gf £? / 

COPY fl. 


Copyright, iqoi , 
by 

THE 

Bbbes IPreea 


t 



,• • 




• .« » . « 


* . ‘ 


TO THAT 


LARGE BODY OF WOMEN 

THE TRAINED NURSES ; 

WHO 

LIKE THE LITTLE GIRL IN OUR RHYME-BOOKS, 
“ IS VERY GOOD INDEED,” 

OR CAN, ON OCCASION, BE EQUALLY 
“HORRID,” 

I DEDICATE THIS SMALL VOLUME 
WITH THANKS 

FOR THEIR PAST KINDNESSES. 


Trenton, N. J., 

June, 1901 
























A DOG-DAY JOURNAL. 


CHAPTER I. 

Blindfolded and alone I wait ; 

Loss seems too bitter, gain too late ; 

Too heavy burdens in the load, 

And too few helpers on the road ; 

And joy is weak and grief is strong, 

And years and days so long, so long I 
Yet this one thing I learn to know 
Each day more surely as I go : 

That I am glad the good and ill 
By changeless laws are ordered still. 

Not as I will. 

—Helen Hunt Jackson. 

August 5th, 189.- 

Are you glad to hear the scratch of my 
pen, diary mine ; for here I am once more 
in this dear old room so full of memories, 
both sweet and sad ; ready to give you my 
confidence after one of the most trying cases 
I was ever called upon to nurse. 

What a woman Mrs. Vexer was with her 
thousand whims and fancies. I wonder why 

5 


6 A Dog-Day Journal. 

such specimens of the human race are al- 
lowed to exist when so many who are good, 
and true, and noble, die ? But for the fact 
that it takes all sorts of people to make a 
world, and that, in my experience, every 
other case is sure to be an easy one, I should 
feel inclined to give up this career of mine 
and become — well — charwoman or seams- 
tress would do. The only thing that holds 
me hack are those miserable shekels on 
which so much of the happiness and wretch- 
edness of this life depends. 

You think I am decidedly down to-night ? 
Who would not be, I ask, after six such 
weeks ? Then, too, it is the first time I ever 
returned that I found no one to greet me 
with loving smiles and a kiss of welcome. 
Oh, mother, mother darling, will the ache 
be always so keen, or will the Father of all 
send peace and healing at last to my lonely 
heart ? 

Three months more of work should find 
me with sufficient funds to enable me to 
settle the dear old M.D.’s account, although 
I can never repay the kindliness of his serv- 
ices and attention this side of Heaven. If 
not in full, he must accept something in re- 
turn for all he did for my poor suffering 


A Dog-Day Journal. 7 

mother. I can’t let him give so much of 
his valuable time without making him some 
return. 

With the vision of that wretched old wom- 
an in her red flannel wrapper still fresh in 
my mind, I feel as if I did not wish to see the 
interior of a sick room for at least a year. 
Such a dream of rest would he a veritable 
castle in Spain, for while in residence, as 
every one knows, the Directory does not 
provide for breathing spaces between cases, 
each nurse being subject to any physician’s 
call, as occasion may demand. However, 
little book, we are certainly entitled, you and 
I, to a two- weeks’ vacation, and we will just 
take matters into our own hands and to- 
morrow go out of residence for that length 
of time. 

Where shall we go for our outing and 
what shall we do ? What do you say to the 
country, — the real country, — and trying life 
on a farm ? It would be a new experience 
for both of us. There we would be free from 
the atmosphere of invalidism and be sur- 
rounded with homely comforts and see only 
those rejoicing in robust and rosy health and 
spirits. 


8 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

How little we know of the future ! I have 
just been interrupted by a message from 
Dr. South asking me to be at his office to- 
morrow morning, as he has a case for me. 
Surely he does not realize how greatly I 
need a few days of rest. I am fit in neither 
body nor mind for such work just now. 
Perhaps when I see him I will still be able 
to arrange for our little trip. At least, 
while wearied, I am alive, and after all what 
a compensation that is at times, — then, too, 
I am young enough to still believe in hope. 


A Dog- Day Journal. 


9 


CHAPTEE II. 

Thank God for life ! Life is not sweet always. 

Hands may be heavy-laden, hearts care-full. 

Unwelcome nights follow unwelcome days, 

And dreams divine end in awakening dull. 

Still it is life, and life is cause for praise : 

This ache, this restlessness, this quickening sting 

Prove me no torpid and inanimate thing. 

Prove me of Him who is of life the spring. 

I am alive, and that is beautiful. 

—Susan Coolidqe. 

August 6th, 189-. 

Well, I have had my interview with the 
doctor and find this to be an instance of 
“the best laid plans of mice and men,” etc. 
— for here I am with my grip packed, 
bound for the country, it is true, but alas, 
not on pleasure bent. 

Before going to Doctor South’s this morn- 
ing, I decided that on seeing him I would 
secure his bill first of all and give him what 
little money I have saved, then I should feel 
less troubled about asking him to let me off 
from the new case. This I did, or rather 
tried to do, but the dear old man seemed so 


10 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

absolutely hurt at my offering him money, 
that instead of making my plea, I begged 
his pardon and forthwith consented to do 
whatever he asked. 

I soon found myself listening with all my 
old-time interest to what he could tell me 
about my new patient. 

I know, my dear child,” he said in his 
kind and fatherly way, ‘^how trying your 
ordeal was with Mrs. Vexer, and that you 
need recreation sadly, but from what Bascoe 
writes I doubt if your services will be re- 
quired a week.” Referring to the letter he 
held in his hand, he continued in a mumbling 
way: ‘‘Heart trouble, — hum, — old age, — 
hum, — greatly enfeebled, — can’t last long, 
not more than a few days, — hum, — son has 
broken his leg, — can’t attend to farm work, 
— hum, — daughter-in-law worn out with 
nursing and anxiety, — hum, — hum. Well,” 
he broke off suddenly, as if awakening from 
a doze, “it is evidently urgent, and they 
can’t do better than have just such a little 
body about as yourself to help them through 
their time of trial.” 

He then told me how I was to reach the 
place, “Scotch Hill,” a farm way off the 
north of the city on a suburban trolley road, 


II 


A Dog-Day JournaL 

where a car goes by once every hour. What 
a prospect in store for me ! ‘‘Ye gods and 
little fishes,” how I envy you! There may 
be a breeze on this hilltop, the name “ Scotch 
Hill ” has a cheering sound. 

Time is up, little book ; I must lunch and 
hie me away. ... I have never done such 
a thing before, hut having promised you a 
peep of rustic life, I feel sorely tempted to 
slip you into my bag and take you with me. 
It can do one no harm for me to confide my first 
impressions of a farm to you. From the little 
I heard of Doctor Bascoe’s letter the people 
are evidently simple and quiet, who say their 
prayers and no doubt read their weekly 
paper, little recking of the great teeming 
world at their very gates. I do hope the 
husband won’t come to the table in his shirt- 
sleeves. One always sees them so in pic- 
tures. Perhaps he never wears a collar save 
on Sunday. His wife, poor soul, I can almost 
see before me, — a sallow, working skeleton ; 
they always look so forlorn as they stand at 
their doors when you whisk by in a train. I 
hope the dear lady won’t feed us on a con- 
tinued diet of salt pork and heavy bread. 

As it can do no wrong to those whose house 
I am going to, I shall take you with me. 


12 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


LATER. 

I had pictured to myself — but there, what 
does it matter what my idle brain conjured 
up, — the unexpected is sure to happen, — far 
better tell the reality. 

On boarding the suburban car I told the 
conductor of my destination, asking him to 
tell me when we reached it, and I then took 
my place well forward, prepared to enjoy my 
trip. And what a ride it was ! We had 
soon passed all the old houses up the steep 
grade of High street, and, after a sudden 
dip in a shady road where silver birches met 
overhead, we began to climb upward again. 
Each hollow meant but that we were to next 
ascend higher than before. Pleasant homes 
were here and there along the line. Twice 
we passed through small villages, with trim 
little flower beds in the dooryards. Here 
and there a store, where every variety of 
wares were displayed in the windows and on 
the porch outside the entrance. It seemed 
decidedly a churchly community, too, for 1 
counted no less than seven such edifices in 
as many miles. Then the farms and undu- 
lating fields, with an occasional stream wan- 
dering in aimless, lazy fashion along, . . . 
Oh, it was all beautiful! No one could en- 


A Dog-Day Journal. 13 

joy just such a scene more than I, after be- 
ing shut up for weeks and months in town 
houses, with one, or at most two rooms at 
my disposal. I have not known what it was 
to have a breath of real fresh air since 
March, and without realizing the fact, I now 
find I was hungry for it. I already feel I 
have taken a new lease on life. 

‘‘ But your daily walks I hear you ask, 
you saucy book. 

Not the least are they to he likened to the 
delicious breeze blowing free over this beau- 
tiful mountain top. I am happy to the very 
tips of my fingers, and it all comes from 
breathing this perfect air. 

But to return to our sheep. 

After passing through this charming land- 
scape for over an hour, the car suddenly 
stopped and I found myself deposited on the 
roadside with my luggage. There was not 
a person in sight, but opposite to the plat- 
form on which I stood was a rather preten- 
tious gateway. On entering I made up my 
mind that the conductor had made a mis- 
take, for the gate, fences, in fact, everything 
about the place gave one the impression of 
its being the home of persons of refinement 
and means. I decided, however, to climb 


14 A Dog-Day Journal. 

the hill and inquire my whereabouts from 
the occupants of the house I saw perched 
upon the top of the incline before me. The 
further I went the more convinced I was of 
some mistake having been made. After a 
a gentle rising slope of a hundred feet the 
driveway disappeared round the bend of the 
hill. The ascent from here was by five ter- 
races, each five feet in height and twenty or 
thirty in width. A gravel walk led up, 
broken here and there by flights of massive 
stone steps to mount each terrace. On every 
level on either side and some distance back 
from the path stood a tree, a chestnut, wal- 
nut or oak, whose branches intermingling, 
gave grateful shade on such a heated day, 
while by the walk in well-trimmed box- 
hedged beds were rose bushes in profusion, 
with here and there a tardy blossom, whose 
fragrance filled the air. The last flight of 
steps gave onto a broad, close-shaven lawn 
divided by the gravel path, and here again I 
met the driveway before a quaint mansion 
of the last century. The many-paned win- 
dows stood wide open, as was also the great 
front door, which led from a massive semi- 
circular portico into the long, broad hall, 
where the stairs and its landing could be 


A Dog-Day Journal. 15 

seen framing another door, open, too, show- 
ing a vista of lawn, outbuildings and undu- 
lating meadows. 

But the front door I could not reach, for 
lying stretched out in a steamer chair was a 
man, seemingly of large proportions, arrayed 
in brown cheviot, whose face was hidden by 
an outspread newspaper. Supposing him to 
be asleep I tried to pass around him quietly 
to reach the bell, when he growled : 

Can’t you leave me in peace ? I told you 
to clear out for the next half hour ! ” 

I could not suppress my amusement and 
I fear I giggled. He seemed so like a 
cantankerous bear cub. Hearing me, he 
threw aside the paper impatiently and be 
hold, instead of an old farmer, I was face 
to face with a man of some forty years of 
age, with rather long, dark brown hair, an 
unkempt beard of a lighter shade, and 
piercing deep blue eyes ; but undoubtedly a 
gentleman. As he seemed unable to move 
from amazement, I hastened to apologize- 
for disturbing him, and asked if he could 
direct me to a farmer’s house, whose name 
was Dunkirk. At this he smiled, and strug- 
gling into a sitting posture, said with a 
comical nod : 


i6 A Dog-Day Journal. 

Behold the farmer. This place is Scotch 
Hill, and you are doubtless the nurse we 
have been expecting for my mother.” 

While he was speaking a quaint little col- 
ored child appeared in the far door of the 
hall, evidently much interested with the pro- 
ceedings. On catching sight of her Mr. 
Dunkirk called : 

‘‘ Here you, Clarinda, run tell Miss Flora, 
Miss . . . Miss . . . um . . . ah. . . .” 

‘‘ McTighe,” I volunteered. 

^‘Ah, yes, — Miss McTighe;” but by this 
time the youngster had disappeared up the 
stairway as fast as her nimble black feet 
would carry her. ‘‘ That imp of darkness is 
my body-guard,” he continued after a pause, 
a merry twinkle in his pleasant eyes. ‘‘ It 
is many weeks since I have walked. ” Break- 
ing off suddenly he added interrogatively : 
“ You are Scotch ? ” 

No,” 1 answered rather abruptly, while, 
the color mounted to my forehead under his 
rather searching gaze ; “ I am Irish. My 
name is M, c, not the M, a, c, of Scotland,” 
I added hurriedly. 

‘‘Oh, that does not matter in the least,” 
he returned. “ I am going to look upon you 
as being Scotch.” 


17 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

But you can’t,” I expostulated; ‘‘my 
father v/as born in the Emerald Isle and my 
mother in France.” 

No telling to what lengths our argument 
might have gone but for a fortunate inter- 
ruption. 

To say I had been surprised at finding Mr. 
Dunkirk so young when I had expected to 
see a gray-haired man, was nothing to my 
astonishment as I saw his wife descend the 
stairs. She appears at least ten or fifteen 
years his senior ; stout, of medium height, 
her dark hair thickly sprinkled with gray, 
and gentle brown eyes that look so worn 
from sleeplessness ; indeed she appears quite 
tired out. You could not doubt his fondness 
for her, his eyes expressed the greatest loy- 
alty and affection, although he merely said : 

“ This is Mrs. Dunkirk, — Miss McTighe.” 

Kindness could not be greater than they 
seem ready to shower on me, and after my 
late experience it is more than pleasant. 

I was taken almost at once to the elder 
Mrs. Dunkirk’s room, and as they had pre- 
pared her for my coming, there was but 
little surprise as she opened her eyes and 
found me standing beside the bed. 

“ What is your name ? ” was her whispered 
2 


i8 A Dog-Day Journal. 

greeting, — for she is indeed extremely 
weak. 

‘‘Letitia,” I answered, Letitia McTighe.” 

‘‘ Flora,” she whispered eagerly, “ did you 
hear, Flora, — the child has my mother’s 
name.” I was at once shown the other 
Letitia’s portrait, a dear old lady who must 
have been a duplicate of my patient in ap- 
pearance, and from that time both dear 
women did not seem to be able to do enough 
for me. 

They would not hear of my starting right 
to work. The younger Mrs. Dunkirk sent 
me to unpack and take a nap, saying she 
would call me when Doctor Bascoe paid his 
evening visit, when she would turn over 
her patient to me. Such treatment I am 
not accustomed to even in the best of cases 
and I doubt if I ever come across such a 
family again. 

The room prepared for me is so cosy and 
pleasant, evidently occupied by a girl, from 
the knick-knacks of one kind and another on 
the table and walls, but as yet I have seen no 
one to whom it could belong. It communi- 
cates with another and much larger bedroom, 
by a curtained archway, and oh, such a view 
as one has from the latticed window of the 


19 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

walk by which I came ; then beyond a rough, 
rocky turnpike, and on to fields, wood, and 
finally another hill. Thank God for life.” 

I hear the doctor’s gig — and where is my 
nap ? I gave it up to gossip with you, for 
the doldrums of last night are past and I 
begin to look on the ‘‘bright side” once 
more. 


20 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE III. 

What’s female beauty but an air divine, 

Thro’ which the mind’s all gentle graces shine ? 

They, like the sun, irradiate all between ; 

The body chains, because the soul is seen. 

Hence, men are often captives of a face. 

They know not why, of no peculiar grace : 

Some forms, tho’ bright, no mortal man can bear ; 

Some, none resist, tho’ not exceeding fair. 

Dr. E. Young. 

“ Scotch Hill,” 

—August 7 th , 189-. 

My Dear Child : — I persuaded your 
mother, who has a headache, to take a well- 
earned rest this afternoon, promising to 
write you the bi-weekly letter in her stead. 

Your grandmother continues about the 
same as when you last heard from us. Dr. 
Bascoe says the end cannot be far off, and 
yet I can’t believe it, so quiet and peaceful 
is everything about the place, and dear 
mother perfectly happy and contented with 
her lot. Bascoe told me the end would come 
silently and swiftly — but when it comes 


21 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

what will there be for me to venerate as I 
have her ? Ah, child, cherish your mother 
while she is left you ; for here am I, who 
would give my right hand to keep mine, and 
I must perforce let her go ! 

I wish you and the little chap were nearer. 
We miss you more each day. You kept us 
young. If Master Jack becomes half the 
man your mother is a woman you will be 
a lucky individual to have such a son. I 
can’t tell you of your mother’s untiring de- 
votion to mine. Their love for one another 
is beautiful and greater than I thought pos- 
sible between those connected merely by a 
bond of law. 

I must not forget to tell you of the only 
comical event in our quiet lives. You know 
how I have disliked the idea of a trained 
nurse being engaged, because I have always 
conceived them to be the type of the ad- 
vanced woman, or lacking a little— just a 
little — morally, to choose such a profession. 
Then, too, I thought your mother and I were 
quite capable of caring for my mother, and 
I did not wish a stranger to come near her. 
On this subject there has been a running 
fight between Bascoe and myself since 
Christmas. When my accident occurred, 


22 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

it left not only all the nursing on Flora’s 
shoulders, but I was unable help her in 
any way, indeed, I only added to her burdens ; 
it is remarkable that she has held out as long 
as she has under it. She fainted the other 
day, and that settled the matter, and Bascoe 
sent to town for a nurse. Having had but 
little sleep lately, I insisted upon sitting up 
the night of the fifth and calling her should 
she be needed. In consequence I became 
horribly drowsy yesterday afternoon, but 
every time I would settle myself for forty 
winks a fly would walk cautiously over my 
nose or that irrepressible Clarinda — whom 
your mother bribes for five cents a week to 
run my errands ; — would dash up to my chair 
and offer her services. She must have left 
me for more than an hour, although it seemed 
but a few seconds, when I heard her stealing 
round my steamer chair, and I called out — 
Providence alone knows what I did say — 
which was answered by a half suppressed 
laugh. I threw off the newspaper lying over 
my face and behold, standing before me 
was a small, dainty and demure somebody, 
dressed in mourning, a little sailor hat only 
half concealing rebellious little curls of the 
queerest mixture of golden brown and red 


23 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

hair, honest clear gray eyes, and the finest 
complexion I’ve seen for many a long day. 
She was looking down at me seemingly 
much amused. To say I was confused, hut 
mildly describes my condition ! The tables 
were turned however when she asked to be 
directed to a farmer’s by the name of Dun- 
kirk. I wish you could have seen her cheeks 
when she learned the truth, they were the 
shade of those big red poppies that grow in 
the corner of the garden, — which are in full 
bloom, by the way. About that time I began 
to be interested and watched the color grad- 
ually receding from her face. She proved 
to be the nurse Bascoe had sent for, and her 
name is McTighe. Fancy her having the 
temerity to assure me that she is a half-and- 
nalfer, of Irish and French extraction, 
when undoubtedly she is Scotch. Indeed, 
we were on the brink of a serious dispute 
when your mother saved the day, as usual, 
by appearing on the scene and taking the 
hard-headed piece off my hands, for which 
I was devotedly thankful, not only on ac- 
count of my wrath against her, but also be- 
cause I am adorned with a two months’ 
growth of beard and my locks are long and 
shabby and I look decidedly seedy. You see, 


24 A Dog-Day Journal. 

I am still as vain as ever ; having passed 
those years when youth will cover a multi- 
tude of defects, and too aged to be able to do 
without those accessories that aid so much 
in the make up of a gentleman of — let us 
say — uncertain years. 

As your mother had my supper sent out 
to me on the porch last evening, it being ex- 
ceedingly warm even on the cool hill, and 
having my faithful Ben serve me at break- 
fast in my snuggery, I did not see Miss 
McTighe again until this morning in your 
grandmother’s room, and then I blamed 
myself for not securing her services before. 
We had done all we could for mother’s com- 
fort, but as Flora said afterward ; 

“We have always been such a distress- 
ingly healthy family.” 

That was the secret, — vre did not know 
what to do. The whole atmosphere of the 
room seemed changed. When we were in 
charge we were always afraid of draughts, — 
medicine bottles, tumblers, spoons, towels, 
shawls were in every direction. Now you 
would not know it to be the same spot. All 
the windows were open to admit the fresh 
breeze — not a spoon or bottle was to be seen 
— the washstand was in order— indeed the 


A Dog-Day Journal. 25 

whole room breathed of cleanliness and 
peace, and yet there sat the little transform- 
er in a spotless gown of white, looking as 
cool and composed as if she had never seen 
a broom or dust cloth in her life. Our dear 
invalid looked the picture of comfort in her 
snow-white surroundings, while at her side 
a bunch of posies stood in a vase on the 
table. While I was there the little nurse 
gave her some nourishment, and managed it 
so deftly I looked on her in amazement. 
Your mother would make two of her, yet 
could not do so much. I suppose it was the 
white dress made the child appear so young 
and small. It would be a hard day for me 
when a daughter of mine would have to earn 
her daily bread in so toilsome a fashion. 
Your mother says she is a great comfort to 
her already and that your grandmother likes 
her equally well. 

Eest assured we will keep you posted as 
to our corner of the world. 

Tell little Jack the cows, and pigs, and 
poultry miss him greatly and want him to 
come to see them. To your gudeman and 
yourself we send our love. 

Yours, always affectionately, 
Thomas Dunkirk. 


26 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER IV. 

. . . Home is the resort 
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, 
Supporting and supported, polished friends 
And dear relations mingle into bliss. 

— J. Thompson. 

August 9th, 189-. 

I HAD not a minute until now to give you, 
little book, for things took a turn for the 
worse night before last and remained so un- 
til this morning. As you are not a medical 
journal it behooves me to be silent as regards 
my patient’s condition beyond the fact that 
when none dared hope for the dear lady’s 
life a sudden change for the better came 
and she may live for weeks. It is a privi- 
lege to be near such a woman. Indeed all 
three of the family are charming, and yet I 
never saw a more remarkable household or 
a more oddly assorted couple than the 
younger Mrs. Dunkirk and her husband, 
although any one can see they are devoted 
to one another. When the slightest de- 


A Dog-Day Journal. 27 

cision has to be made it is always : ‘‘ I’ll see 
what Flora thinks,” or, ‘‘I had better ask 
Tom about it.” The two ladies are con- 
stantly lauding the beauties of his character, 
and this afternoon when I came upon him 
in the garden in his rolling chair, he at 
once launched forth on Mrs. Dunkirk’s de- 
votion to his mother. And yet, as far as I 
know, they never meet save at meal time 
or in the sick-room. His apartments are in 
the east wing‘ on the first floor, beyond the 
library, and hers are in the west wing in the 
second story, next to the old lady’s room. 
He heeds her slightest wish and is gentle 
and considerate to a degree, and the differ- 
ence in their age may have the effect of 
making him treat her with such marked 
difference, but there is something I can’t 
quite understand about them. They have 
a daughter who is married and lives at a 
distance and it is her room I occupy. It 
communicates with Mrs. Dunkirk’s, who 
told me they had always been more like sis- 
ters than mother and child. 

To-day when I met Mr. Dunkirk I told 
him he should try to walk. His wife had 
asked me to encourage him in this, as he 
made no effort to do so, and only used his 


28 A Dog-Day Journal. 

crutches in going up and down stairs. For 
a time he stood out against my persuasions, 
but finally, on returning to a smooth brick 
path, he consented to leave his rolling-chair 
and try. I showed him how he could hold 
my shoulders and push me ahead of him. 
He did very well, and seemed so pleased that 
he told Mrs. Dunkirk he should ask for my 
assistance every day. You would suppose I 
had achieved some famous success, and his 
dear old mother, on hearing of it, begged I 
would allow nothing to interfere with his 
daily promenade. How those two women 
dote on him, and he really does seem to be 
remarkably nice, for a man. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


29 


CHAPTER V. 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 
Not from the ground arise, 

But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
Assume this dark disguise. 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

August 11th, 189-. 

Here I have been for a week, and I am 
ashamed to confess how happy I am in this 
pleasant home, when I know how heavy are 
the hearts of the household. But this is 
such different work from that which I en- 
counter elsewhere. Mrs. Dunkirk is such 
a dear, and her daughter-in-law treats me 
more like a member of the family than a 
nurse, and oh, bookie love, it’s so refresh- 
ing. Mr. Dunkirk has become decidedly 
youthful since he has begun to take steps ! 
He comes to his mother’s room twice a day, 
and in his pleasant, quiet way is the life of 
the house. His small attendant is so 
picturesque and adds greatly to the amuse- 


30 A Dog-Day Journal. 

ment of our walks with her quaint sayings. 
He will not need my help much longer, for 
he improves steadily. Truly it is a blessing 
to learn to bear the anticipation of a great 
affliction in such a way. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


31 


CHAPTEE VI. 

But though impressions calm and sweet 
Thrill round my heart a holy heat, 

And I am inly glad ; 

The tear-drop stands in either eye, 

And yet I cannot tell thee why, 

I am pleased, and yet I’m sad. 

—Henry Kirk White. 

“ Scotch Hill,” August 14th, 189-. 

Oh the pity of it, — the pity of it ! 

Mr. Dunkirk has been shaved ! 

I was sent out as usual at five o’clock this 
afternoon to help him in his walk. It only 
takes ten minutes or so, and then I go off 
for a half-hour’s ramble in the delicious old 
garden to the south of the house ; such a 
garden as the “ life of a man may come 
to its close before he has seen half the pic- 
tures which she is able to display.” Each 
day I find some new treasure, and taking it 
to my patient, hear a little tale about it, — 
for each flower has its own history, and most 
of them were planted by her withered and 
wrinkled hands when she was young. 


32 A Dog-Day Journal. 

Clarinda told me when she had come to 
fetch me I should find ‘‘ Mars Tom ” on the 
north side of the house, and thither I went, 
the child in her bare feet skipping at my 
side. Turning the corner of the house 
quickly, I brushed against a man. A sec- 
ond glance, on seeing the wheel-chair empty, 
revealed who the stranger was, for I should 
never have recognized him in passing. I 
thought him forty when I first arrived. 
Now he does not appear to be thirty, though 
of course he is. Never have I seen any one 
so changed. His hair cut close shows to ad- 
vantage a splendid head, and his face, clean- 
shaven save for a well-trimmed moustache, 
brings to light a chin of great power, tem- 
pered by a gentle but in no ways weak 
mouth. Why, he is really handsome ! I 
felt quite as though he were a stranger on 
first seeing him, he was so totally differ- 
ent, entirely made over, in fact ; but while 
decidedly improved, there was somehow 
something I missed. He was no longer my 
Mr. Dunkirk. He seems eager to extend his 
walks and proposed I should help him both 
morning and evening. I agreed with him, 
but suggested that he should roll his chair 
before him, as he can do very well without 


33 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

my help, and the oftener he walks the better 
it will be, so long as he does not overtire 
himself. My answer seemed to disappoint 
him — but it is nonsense for him to pretend 
he can’t get on without me. 

Soon after Mrs. Dunkirk sent for me, and 
as I entered my room she came to ask me to 
give up my walk, as she had one of her bad 
headaches. Poor soul ! she looked so old 
and worn my heart went out to her. The 
pain had brought out all the lines in her face 
and made her look sixty, if a day. She must 
be years older than her husband. 

3 


34 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE VII. 

Her very gown, her cloak, 

Fell chastely : no disguise. 

But expression ! while she broke 
With her clear gray morning-eyes 
Full upon me, and then spoke. 

She wore her hair away 
From her forehead — like a cloud 
Which a little wind in May 
Peels off finely ; disallowed, 

Though bright enough to stay. 

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

“Scotch Hill,” August 14th, 189-. 

My Dear Child :~A11 I seem good for 
just now is to be your mother’s amanuensis ; 
another frightful headache has laid her low. 
Miss McTighe took the helm to-day and 
made her keep to her room, and is boss of 
both invalids and of the whole house as well. 

Clarinda and I were banished because we 
were noisy. Seeing the former seated on 
a stump on the back lawn gazing in wrapt 
attention at the upper porch, I called out : 

‘‘ Well, you black imp, what are you look- 


A Dog-Day Journal. 35 

ing at ? ” Her answer came in her piping 
treble : 

“ I’se jes’ watchin’ Miss Lettie, Mars Tom ; 
she’s mighty pritty a-settin’ in a window.” 

I was wishing for a snap-shot at the little 
darky herself in her clinging rags, her black 
wool tied with different-colored twine in a 
dozen hornlike twists and her arms crossed 
behind her head with a grace a Calve might 
envy, and was about to join her when a 
voice from over the banisters sounded re- 
treat : 

‘‘ Mr. Dunkirk, will you roll your chair 
about in another part of the house for the 
day and take Clarinda with you ? Mrs. 
Dunkirk must have perfect quiet.” So you 
see your mother is being looked after along 
with the rest of us. 

Congratulate me, my dear. I have had a 
tonsorial artist visit me, and I am no longer 
a Samson. I had no idea what a wretched 
appearance I presented until my small body- 
guard informed me when I emerged from 
my room. 

Now you looks right smart, like a gen- 
tleman.’’ On being questioned as to my so- 
cial status prior to the transformation, she 
twisted her slender ebony fingers about, 


36 A Dog-Day Journal. 

glanced at me once or twice, and answered, 
while a shy smile, half bravado, half apolo- 
getic, played about the corners of her mouth : 
‘‘ Well, sir, — ’scuse me, sir, — you see, sir, 
you did look mighty po-ly.’’ 

The effect of my changed appearance on 
the little nurse was startling. For a second 
it was evident she did not know me. She 
was so confused that for a moment I was at 
a loss to know what to say, and only made 
matters worse by proposing she should help 
me more frequently, as I am anxious to 
throw aside this infirmity. She evidently 
thought I was imposing on her in asking 
her to add to her duties, for she promptly 
told me that I was doing so remarkably well 
I could roll the chair ahead of me and it 
would do quite as well ; which is doubtless 
true but not half so pleasant. Fancy for 
yourself : a small person coming but an 
inch above my shoulder, dressed in spotless 
linen, with well-formed feet and hands, 
clear eyes and fine brow, good complexion, 
and just a wee tilt to her nose, on whose 
shoulders I place my hands and lean on, 
pushing her ahead of me to suit my gait, 
while I feast my eyes on a mass of golden 
brown hair tucked up in a mysterious little 


37 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

knot on top of one of the prettiest heads I 
have seen in years. I have an insane desire 
at times to pull out those four pins (for they 
are always in the same corners) and see 
what would happen. I am confident it 
would tumble into a thousand waves and 
each would catch a glint of the sun as it 
fell to a little below her shoulders. Are you 
shocked ? You need not be, for this is merely 
an old chap’s idle thoughts that are written 
down for loss of something better to do. 

I wish we could manage a telephone to 
Sacramento. What jolly conversations we 
might have each day. As it is this letter 
will take nearly a week to reach you. 

Each paroxysm leaves our dear invalid 
weaker. What a real blessing your mother 
is wherever she goes. We can never love 
her enough, you and I, for all she has been 
to us. 

I shall write again in a few days. 

Much love to your husband and kiss that 
scamp of a Jack for 

Yours affectionately, 
Thomas Dunkirk. 


38 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER VIII.' 

Kindness has resistless charms, 

All things else but weakly move ; 

Fiercest anger it disarms, 

And clips the wings of flying love. 

Beauty does the heart invade, 

Kindness only can persuade, 

It gilds the lover’s servile chain. 

And makes the slave grow pleased and vain. 

—The Earl of Rochester. 

August 18th, 189-. 

Never in my life was I more misunder- 
stood than by that wretched Mr. Dunkirk ! 
Fancy his imagining my not helping him to 
walk was because I thought I had too much 
to do. It makes me provoked even now to 
think of it ! 

As I came in from my walk this afternoon, 
I met him in front of the portico pushing 
his chair before him. I had hardly seen 
him for a day or two, and when we met his 
manner was rather repellent, which I attrib- 
uted to his grief over his mother’s condi- 
tion, for he is a most devoted son, and she 


A Dog-Day Journal. 39 

has had a return of her trouble. As he 
came opposite to me the chair rolled rapidly 
ahead and he nearly lost his footing. I 
sprang forward, caught the chair with my 
left hand and steadied him with my right, 
under his arm. It was the work of a second 
and all would have ended there but for my 
stupidly saying : 

“ It was very foolish in you to trust your- 
self to such a thing.” 

It was your own suggestion,” he re- 
torted ; “I was convinced I was not equal 
to it.” 

‘‘I supposed of course you would have 
Clarinda with you.” I was very much an- 
noyed to find I was blushing under his per- 
sistent gaze of reproach. He has such pene- 
trating eyes. 

‘‘I beg. Miss McTighe,” he continued, 
heedless of my interruption, ‘‘you will be- 
lieve that I had no desire to trespass on your 
time more than I should when I asked your 
assistance. When one has been confined to 
a house as long as I, they are apt to become 
self-indulgent. I suppose,” he added depre- 
catingly, “I am a very selfish old fellow, 
but the truth is both the dear ladies of this 
household have spoiled me horribly.” 


40 A Dog-Day Journal. 

I hope I made him understand how far 
any such idea was from my mind. I told 
him how different my position was in his 
house from that I occupied in most places 
I went to, and before I realized what was 
happening I found myself walking ahead of 
him in the old way with his hands on my 
shoulders. He questioned me closely about 
my life and my work, seeming interested in 
all I had to tell him ; and then, because it 
was just three months since you had left 
me, mother dear, and I had been so hunger- 
ing for your love all day long, I told him 
more than I otherwise would. Although 
younger than his wife he is a father, and he 
must know how hard it would bo for his 
daughter to be left in the world. He did 
not say anything to me, but it was such a 
comfort to tell some of my heart loneliness 
to a sentient being. I hope I have not been 
like Polly, who talked too much.” 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


41 


CHAPTER IX. 

[t is not in the mountains 
Nor the palaces of pride, 

That love will fold his wings up 
And*rejoicingly abide ; 

But in meek and humble natures 
His home is ever found, 

As the lark that sings in heaven 
Builds its nest upon the ground. 

— Laman Blanchard. 

“ Scotch Hill,” August 19th, 189-. 
My Dear Child : 

Your mother has gone into the city to- 
day for sundry necessaries and persuaded 
me it was my duty to write to you, as she 
would not return until just before tea-time 
and would then be too weary to do so. 

Your grandmother continues about the 
same. Bascoe says she has the most 
wonderful recuperative powers he has ever 
seen in one so aged. She has taken a great 
liking to her little nurse, and your mother 
says at any time of the day or night you 


42 A Dog-Day Journal. 

enter the room the child is ready and willing 
to help with anything. 

When I wrote to you the other day I did 
Miss McTighe an injustice. Our little mis- 
understanding was cleared up to our mutual 
satisfaction yesterday. As she was return- 
ing from her walk, I came up, trundling my 
chair ahead of me. Intending to raise my 
cap to her, I took my left hand off the bar, 
and bearing more weight on my right, the 
wheels moved more rapidly than I could (or 
would) follow, and I might have fallen, had 
she not caught the chair and steadied me. 
Then using my privilege as semi-invalid I 
waxed pathetic and reproachful. The poor 
little soul was quite upset at being blamed 
for the whole occurrence, until I began to 
hint it was because we had taken so much 
of her time, and that she did not wish to 
wait on any save her own special invalid. 
At this she became so wrothy and excited 
I was quite delighted, it was a new phase, 
this indignant little girl standing there with 
flashing gray eyes repudiating such an idea. 
She never noticed in her agitation that I 
pushed the chair aside unaided and began 
walking up and down the path in the old 
way with my hands upon her shoulders. I 


43 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

could tell when she became conscious of the 
situation by the breaks in her sentences, so 
I began to question her about her past and 
drew from her the sad story of her life. Ah, 
my child, how thankful 1 am that you, who 
are so dear to us, have had a bed of roses on 
which to lie. 

It appears her father, a good hearted but 
adventurous youth from the north of Ire- 
land, son of a good but impoverished house, 
came to this country to seek his fortune. 
On the steamer was a young French girl, an 
orphan, bound for one of the Western states, 
where she was to reside with her brother. 
Forthwith, both being good-looking, young, 
and penniless, they promptly fell in love, and 
on reaching New York, rather than be 
separated, they were married. Their families 
combined and gave them their ‘‘heartfelt 
sympathy,” and nothing mOre. 

Why dwell on their misfortunes. They 
had a very usual fate. He procured a 
position that, as the child quaintly expressed 
it, “ kept the wolf from coming within the 
door, but they could always hear his howls 
without.” Eleven years passed in this way, 
then the poor fellow departed this life, leav- 
ing his wife and daughter no visible means 


44 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

of support. His former employers, however, 
interested themselves in the case and secured 
the mother a position as copyist, and on a 
mere pittance these two existed for eight 
years, at which time the daughter went to 
train to become a nurse. All these years 
the mother, who was evidently a woman of 
education and refinement, had taught her 
child daily, and I venture to say from what 
I have seen of Miss McTighe, few girls of 
her age are better read. Last March her 
mother became ill, and after weeks of suf- 
fering died in May. Of course I did not 
hear all this yesterday. It was to-day, when 
we resumed our walk, that I questioned her 
further. 

I find I will have to close my letter hastily, 
as Vincent is due, who is coming to see me 
in reference to re-leasing the old back farm. 

Love to you and yours. 

Affectionately yours, 
Thos. Dunkirk. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


45 


CHAPTER X. 

Behind a screen of western hills 
The sunset color fades to-night : 

Along the arching corridors 

Long shadows steal with footsteps light. 

The banners of the day are furled ; 

Thro’ darkening space the twilight creeps 
And smooths the forehead of the world 
Until he sleeps. 

—Charles Kellogg Field. 

August 21st, 189-. 

I DO wish I had not told Mr. Dunkirk 
about myself and family. I don’t think I 
am particularly fanciful, but indeed it is 
becoming most annoying. He says very 
little to me, almost nothing, save during our 
walks, which have been resumed, but he is 
continually looking at me. Suppose his wife 
should notice it ; I should at once be looked 
upon as a most injudicious young person 
and asked to pack my satchel. I feel sure 
the man is sorry for my utter loneliness, yet 
he could do nothing more unkind than show 
his pity under these circumstances. To-day 


46 A Dog-Day Journal. 

I asked to be excused from dessert, simply 
to get from under his gaze. If it goes on I 
will ask Mrs. Dunkirk to have my dinner 
sent to my room. I will then have to meet 
him only at supper, for he breakfasts in his 
own room. 

He has evidently told his wife about me, 
for yesterday as I stood at the hall window 
for a moment watching a glorious sunset 
which seemed to give me a glimpse of the 
far-off Land and always makes me long to 
be with mother, I felt Mrs. Dunkirk slip her 
arms about my waist, saying as she kissed 
my cheek : 

“ My dear, I did not know of your own 
recent sorrow until to-day, and all the more 
do I thank you for kind and cheerful service 
you have rendered each of us,” and she 
passed on to her mother’s room. 

They are all three so good in their different 
ways. My special charge is as near a saint 
as one can be and still remain on earth. 
Then the younger Mrs. Dunkirk I become 
more fond of every day, and I feel I am not 
only a help but also a comfort to her, for 
she told me several days ago how she had 
missed her daughter until I came. She is 
so motherly and kind ; I already feel I could 


47 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

go to her at any time, but her husband : — 
ugh — he is my hete noir. Yet he is one of 
the most unselfish men I have ever met. 
Every one in the community comes to him 
for advice, and he is generosity itself and 
tender-hearted too. It is only his attitude 
towards my humble self that is disagreeable, 
and yet he is extreme in his politeness. . . . 
Oh, well, another week will find me back in 
my old quarters, no doubt, and then he and 
his peculiarities will be forgotten. 


48 


A Dog-Day Journal 


CHAPTER XI. 

The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial ; 

But there doth live a Power that to the battle 

Girdeth the weak. 

—Joanna Bailue. 

“ Scotch Hill,” August 24th, 189-. 
My Dear Child : 

Again I am the only available person to 
write to you, so I’ll ‘‘ take my pen in hand,” 
as the beginners say, and try to take your 
mother’s place. 

Doctor Bascoe assures us that your grand- 
mother may recover from the attack of two 
nights ago. The strain of the last two 
months has been terrific on us all and I look 
with wonder on the little nurse who is always 
so bright, cheerful and ready for work. 
Your mother is almost worn out, and I never 
realized before how helpless and useless a 
man is at such times ; my very inability to 
be of service hut adds to my sorrow. 

I am very lonely, for I see your mother 
but rarely, and Miss McTighe has asked 


49 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

that her dinner be served to her in her room ; 
that she may be more continually with your 
grandmother, no doubt. I wish the girl 
were not so painfully shy, I would like her to 
know how much I appreciate her goodness to 
us all ; indeed, I do not know what we should 
have done without her, and yet if I offer 
her the most simple courtesy she blushes and 
looks toward your mother in an appealing 
way I cannot understand. I suppose the 
hard life she has had has much to do with 
it. Sometimes I fancy she is half afraid of 
me, and yet Heaven knows I have done noth- 
ing to make her so. 

My dear, I always thought I cared for 
your mother, but I never knew the half of 
her goodness until now. She has in me a 
most humble and devoted slave from this 
time forth. She is veritably a saint on earth. 

We are delighted to hear of the trip your 
husband is proposing to take you on in the 
autumn. He is a trump ! You can’t come 
to us too often or stay too long. I only wish 
you were here now. What fine times Master 
Jack and I will have together. 

Your mother joins me in fond love to you 
all. Affectionately yours, 

Thomas Dunkirk. 


4 


50 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

Man wisheth and seeketh his wish to fulfil, 

But Allah denieth save that which He will. 

— From the Arabic. 

August 26th, 189-. 

Could any one be more tormenting if 
they tried ! 

The day after I last wrote in you, my little 
book, my patience gave away, and poor Mrs. 
Dunkirk, senior, being taken much worse, 
gave me the opportunity I wanted to ask 
that my dinner might be brought to my 
room. The state of affairs had to be changed 
and I am really far more comfortable, al- 
though a little lonely at times. I caught the 
waitress and maid exchanging the most 
knowing glances the other day when Mr. 
Dunkirk was showing me some rare old china 
in the dining-room. Oh, I could cry, I be- 
come so vexed with silly people. Why, 
because I earn my living in an honest way, 
can’t I be left alone to live my life out in 
peace. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 51 

I thought I had solved the problem of 
meeting him, but of all provoking notions 
he has taken into his head the worst is that 
he now appears at breakfast. He greeted 
me in the most cheerful manner as I entered 
the dining-room this morning. I could 
gladly have pulled his hair when he an- 
nounced his intention of throwing aside his 
invalidism and joining the family at break- 
fast hereafter. He seemed so happy and 
Mrs. Dunkirk so pleased I felt like a miser- 
able sinner ; but here is another meal spoiled 
for me. 

Clarinda is my only real source of amuse- 
ment. I asked her for whom she had been 
named, and she answered : 

‘‘Nobody in ’tickler, please ma’am. You 
see’s it was this-ah-way — yes, ma’am — my 
maw she didn’t like nothin’ ther-ah-tickle, so 
she ast a neighbor lady to choose suthin sens- 
ible like — yes, ma’am, — something likes they 
hev in de Bible, only not so ole, — and they dee- 
cides on Clahrindah — yes, ma’am.” Each 
“yes, ma’am ’’had been accompanied by a 
curtsy which set in motion all of the dozen 
pig-tails on her head, and her name seemed 
all the more inappropriate. 


52 


A Dog- Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Deep-hearted man, express 
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death : — 

Most like a monumental statue set 
In everlasting watch and moveless woe, 

“ Till itself crumbles to the dust beneath.” 

— Elizabeth Barrett Brownino. 

September 3d, 189-. 

There has been no time to give you, my 
silent little confidant, these past few days, 
for we are now in a house of mourning. 
The end came quietly and unexpectedly the 
first evening of the month. There is some- 
thing very solemn in the deep, unspeakable 
sorrow of those of riper years. Grief is al- 
ways so heartrending to me at any time. 

This husband and wife are so strangely 
different. If I were married I should want 
to be able to go to my husband and pour out 
all my trouble ; feeling sure he would un- 
derstand and appreciate my wanting his love 
at such a time. But these two are as far 
apart as though the ocean lay between them. 
When the end oame he was kneeling by his 


A Dog-Day Journal. 53 

mother’s bedside holding her hand in both of 
his, his head bowed upon them. He knew 
without being told and after raising his head 
and looking long into that peaceful face he 
rose to his feet ; as he did so Mrs. Dunkirk 
laid her head on his shoulder, murmuring in 
choking sobs : 

Oh ! Tom — oh, Tom ! ” Immediately he 
raised her, and looking at me in a helpless 
way, said in a voice of suppressed anguish : 

“Do what you can to comfort her,” 
pushed her towards me, and hurried from 
the room. 

I have not seen him since. He remains 
shut up in his apartments, and the servants 
tell me his food is practically untouched. 
He sent word to Mrs. Dunkirk by Dr. Bas- 
coe, who spent an hour with him yesterday, 
to arrange things as she knew his mother 
had wished, and he should be satisfied. His 
wife is in a deplorable state, but keeps up so 
bravely, thinking only of his grief. She 
does not dare go near him — indeed, proposed 
I should go. 

I had thought I could go home yesterday 
morning, as my work here is at an end. 
Mrs. Dunkirk, however, would not hear of 
it, and I consented to remain until after the 
funeral. 


54 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

O, Sorrow ! 

Why dost borrow 

The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue ? 

To give at evening pale 

Unto the nightingale, 

That thou may’st listen the cold dews among ? 

—Keats. 

September 4th, 189— 

Mrs. Dunkirk came to my room right 
after tea this evening to ask me to do her a 
great kindness. 

“You have such a softening influence on 
Tom,” she continued, “perhaps he would 
listen to you.” Her heavy eyes and weary, 
sorrowful smile smote my heart, and I 
thought, if I were Tom’s wife, he would 
have to listen to me instead of a third per- 
son. She explained that there were things 
that could not be finally arranged without 
his being consulted, “and I dare not go, 
for he has forbidden any one entering the 
library or his rooms save Ben, and he, poor 


A Dog-Day Journal. 55 

fellow, is so distressed, for he has just told 
me his master has neither eaten nor slept, as 
far as he knows. He does nothing but pace 
the floor and smoke — smoke — smoke ! ” 
The poor lady wrung her hands and great 
tears coursed down her pale cheeks. “ He 
always takes grief in this way. His mother 
was all-in-all to him, and he would do any- 
thing she asked. She is gone now, and I 
have only you to look to for help in this 
matter.” She put her arms around me, say- 
ing so pleadingly: “ Go to him, I beg you ; 
make him eat, and strengthen him with the 
comfort you have given me, my child ; then, 
perhaps, he will sleep and be equal to the or- 
deal awaiting him to-morrow.” 

What could I do other than acquiesce, 
although in my heart of hearts I knew it 
was all wrong. 

Going down to the dear old black mammy 
in charge of the kitchen, I soon got her to 
assist me in preparing a toothsome meal, 
which I arranged on a waiter and took to 
the library, ^^ot finding him there, I went 
on to a door at the further end of the room 
leading into his special sanctum. I knocked, 
but receiving no answer, opened the door 
and was almost stifled by the fumes of stale 


56 A Dog-Day Journal. 

tobacco that enveloped me as I entered. 
There had fallen a damp and chilly rain all 
day, but with sunset the skies had cleared. 
The windows had both been closed against 
the rain by faithful old Ben, who had for- 
gotten to open them later. I caught sight 
of Mr. Dunkirk at once in the half light sit- 
ting in a great armchair, leaning forward 
with his head in his hands, his fingers run 
through the thick and dark locks. 

To me there is something so pitiful in a 
man’s sorrow ; even the wisest and best ap- 
pear little more than children under it. I 
had come into the room full of anger against 
him for lack of consideration for liis wife ; 
now I felt that no matter what his faults 
might be, his grief, at least, was sincere. 
He “was alone with his sorrow and God,” 
and we may none of us judge one another 
with impunity at such times. 

Laying the tray on a chair with as little 
noise as possible, I opened a northwest win- 
dow, and a cool, refreshing breeze swept 
past me into the room ; then drawing a 
small table to his side, placed the dishes on it 
to my satisfaction, and spoke his name. He 
seemed not to have heard me, so I came in 
front of him and laid my hand on his shoul- 


A Dog-Day Journal. 57 

der and called him again. He raised his 
head and gazed at me in a dazed way, saying 
slowly in a whisper : 

“ Did she send you to me ? ” 

‘‘Yes,” I answered steadily, although a 
little frightened by his manner, “and you 
must do as I tell you, or you will be ill,” I 
added firmly. 

“But you will stay,” he pleaded anxiously. 
“You will not leave me ? ” catching my hand 
as I prepared to move aside. 

“I will stay here if you will do just as I 
tell you,” I answered, and then branched 
off at once and spoke of the most common- 
place occurrences about the farm. Little by 
little he was persuaded into eating a fairly 
good meal, after which he answered certain 
questions Mrs. Dunkirk had desired me to ask 
him. I felt I had succeeded in my mission 
when I finally gained his consent to have his 
wife come to him. With his promise to go 
to bed and try to sleep I sped away to Mrs. 
Dunkirk with the good news. She went 
down to him at once and has not as yet re- 
turned. God grant they may begin to un- 
derstand, or rather, draw near to one 
another. 

I wonder why he asked me whether his 


58 A Dog-Day Journal. 

wife had sent me to him in that queer, 
dazed way. It sounded almost uncanny, to 
use one of his own Scottish figures of 
speech. 


A Dog- Day Journal. 


59 


CHAPTER XV. 

i:Jest though impressions calm and sweet 
Thrill round my heart a holy heat, 

And I am inly glad ; 

The tear drop stands in either eye, 

And yet I cannot tell thee why, 

I am pleased, and yet I’m sad. 

—Henry Kirke White. 

September 8th, 189 -. 

There is an old maxim to the effect that 
one should ever be so blessedly peaceful in 
disposition that no breaking in on their plans 
would have power to disturb their equa- 
nimity. Alas, I am not one of these desirable 
characters, for oh, I did so hope to be back in 
town by this time ! 

To be sure, I might have told Mr. Dunkirk 
to procure another nurse, indeed could have 
gotten one for him myself, but his wife 
wanted me to remain, and I have become so 
fond of her and so sorry for him and — here 
I am. He does care for her, I feel sure, and 
yet he seems as far off as ever and has not 
come near her, saying he knows she is in safe 


6o 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

hands and that Doctor Bascoe assured him 
they had secured a jewel in me. As yet 
the exhaustion is so great she notices but 
little ; by-and-by how will it be though ? 
Twice she has asked me to see whether there 
was anything he needed, while, poor soul, 
she lies here alone, never dreaming of the 
love and attentions other men give their 
wives when ill. 

My one blessing now is that I need no 
longer meet him save in his wife’s room. I 
have arranged to have all my meals brought 
to me. Why does he persist in his efforts to 
interest me, for I like him so much and 
should like to claim them both as friends, — 
but, no — he must spoil it all, and now we no 
longer meet in the dining-room he joins me 
in my afternoon walk. This was so both 
yesterday and to-day. I can’t truthfully say 
that I do not enjoy being with him, for I 
do. He has traveled and read a great deal 
and it is delightful to listen to him. You tell 
him some insignificant thought and he en- 
larges upon it until you find, instead of an 
ugly, scrawny sapling it has developed into a 
beautiful tree in full blossom under the in- 
fluence of his larger mind. All this is dan- 
gerously pleasant, but I must not permit it 


A Dog-Day Journal. 6i 

to continue. I shall change my hour for 
walking to the morning and in this way shall 
avoid seeing him. 

Doctor Bascoe told me yesterday I must 
stay at least two weeks. So be it, for that 
poor dear woman’s sake, but not a day longer 
than the fortnight. 

I have been here a month, and my duties 
being so varied and my surroundings so dif- 
ferent from past experiences has made the 
time slip by rapidly. I feel so much better 
and happier near to mother nature, with her 
beautiful foliage and pure fresh air. I will 
doubtless feel much cramped when I return 
to my one back room, with its two dingy 
windows overlooking equally dingy back 
yards. Heigh-ho, I wonder if I would be 
happier as a wealthy woman of elegant 
leisure ? I doubt it. 

‘‘Go to bed, you silly girl ! ” do I hear you 
exclaim, you very sensible little book, “ and 
have done with the idle dreams of your idle 
brain.” 

Well, perhaps you are right. I am, and 
as far as I know must always remain, a 
trained nurse. 

Good-night. 


62 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Wilt thou be just in thy love to others and deal 
with me Unjustly and put me away, while others have 
joy in thee ? 

— From the Arabic. 

September 11th, 189-. 

For two days my early walk did famously, 
and I met not a soul save Clarinda who 
greeted me on entering the house yesterday 
with : 

‘‘How-du, Miss Lettie, you’se mighty 
early, ’pears to me,” and her look was re- 
proachful, for she very often accompanied 
me in my rambles. 

This morning I was not so fortunate, how- 
ever, for as I descended the stairway there 
stood Mr. Dunkirk leaning against the 
newel post. I sighed for the days when he 
was tied to his rolling chair, then one could 
locate him ; now he is forever appearing at 
unexpected corners. I had felt positive I 
might choose this half hour without fear of 
his intrusion, for I had found out through 


A Dog-Day Journal. 63 

Clarinda that Ben did not go to his master’s 
room until half after eight every morning ; 
in consequence I chose from eight to eight- 
thirty. Yet, after all my contriving, here 
he stood, almost barring my passage. I in- 
stantly made up my mind not to let him sup- 
pose he could annoy me, and fortunately 
bethought me of something of which I had 
wanted to speak to him about, and began 
to address him before he had turned in a 
blithe tone hardly in keeping with my real 
emotions : 

‘‘ Good-morning, Mr. Dunkirk. I am 
glad to be able to give you a favorable re- 
port of our patient. A few more nights like 
the one just past will be the best medicine 
in the world for her. By-the-way,” I added 
hurriedly, seeing him about to speak, ‘‘a 
number of letters have come for Mrs. Dunkirk 
but Doctor Bascoe has positively forbidden 
her receiving them ; I have them in my poc- 
ket to give to you,” and I drew forth five or 
six and held them for him to take, as by this 
time he was but two steps below me. 

‘‘You might as well keep them. Miss Mc- 
Tighe,” he said quietly, “for I don’t know 
half the people Flora corresponds with, and 
besides, I don’t like the letters we are receiv- 


64 A Dog-Day Journal. 

ing just now,” he lowered his voice and 
looked down. ‘ ‘ Friends write them in kind- 
ness of heart, I know, but the wound is still 
too fresh to bear the probe.” 

‘‘ Two of them I know you want ! ” I in- 
terrupted, trying to be cheerful ; ‘‘they are 
from some one you love.” He glanced up 
into my face quickly, and I continued hur- 
riedly : “You see I cannot even give her 
her daughter’s letters, and I knew you would 
be as anxious as her mother to hear from 
her.” 

“You are quite right,” he answered, 

“ but I could hardly break the seal. Do you 
think so yourself ? ” 

• “Of course you know best, sir,” I re- 
plied, “ but at least I know I have given 
them into the proper hands.” What a 
queer pair. Fancy my father not opening 
letters from me if my mother lay ill. I had 
a little basket in my hand and a pair of 
shears to gather some flowers for my invalid, 
and as I tried to pass Mr. Dunkirk stepped 
to one side, taking them from me. 

“ I can show you some really pretty late 
roses if you will come with me,” was all he 
said, and I followed him. I am determined, 
however, that these walks have to stop or 


A Dog-Day Journal. 65 

I shall throw up the case. I hate myself 
whenever I give way to his wishes, and yet 
it is a real pleasure to please him ; his whole 
expression changes and his eyes light up like 
stars, the lines about the lips relax and he 
smiles. He is then at his best. 

I feel that he thinks I treat him unfairly, 
and yet surely he must understand how im- 
possible it is for me to act towards him 
other than I do. He told me this morning 
that I looked out for every one in the house 
more than I did for him. 


66 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Love is a guest that comes unbidden, 

But having come, asserts his right ; 

He will not be repressed nor hidden. 

—Paul Lawrence Dunbar. 

September 13th, 189-. 

I HAVE done finely to-day. Mr. Dunkirk 
went into town directly after breakfast, and 
as I did not leave tlie house yesterday or this 
morning, I went out directly after dinner 
while my patient slept, and reveled in the 
sunshine and balmy air to my heart’s con- 
tent. If he would only stay away for sup- 
per too, I should then have had a perfectly 
free and delightful day. 

LATER. 

He did not return until just before tea was 
served. When the waitress brought my 
tray to my room as usual, she also carried 
two large but light-weight boxes, which she 
handed to me, while a beaming smile lighted 
up her kindly black face. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 67 

Dese here is fo’ you, wif Marse Tom’s 
combi ements,” she said. 

The larger was addressed, ‘‘For Flora, 
with love from Tom,” and contained a most 
charming hunch of white chrysanthemums, 
looking for all the world like benevolent old 
men shaking their heads at you. Mrs. Dun- 
kirk was so touched by the remembrance, 
her poor hands trembled as she undid the 
paper, and quiet tears stole down her face as 
she murmured : 

“ It was so like him. He is so dear and 
thoughtful.” Then more quickly : “Did he 
bring none for you ? ” I stammered some- 
thing to the effect that there was a second 
box as yet unopened, at which she bright- 
ened still more and looked equally pleased. 
“ Oh, I felt sure he would not forget you, 
dear child, for while a man of few words, he 
has thoroughly appreciated all you have 
done for us. Eun away to your tea now, I 
know it is waiting, but afterwards show me 
what flowers he brought youJ^ 

I returned to my room hating m3'’self as 
never before, for my heart was throbbing 
with delight when I knew I should not care 
a jot for either the flowers or the donor. 
Oh, pity me — pity me, little confidant, I am 


68 A Dog-Day Jourrlal. 

so lonely and wretched to-night ! I want to 
be a good woman ; all that mother would 
have wished me to be, and lead the life that 
should be lived by the nurse who loves her 
profession, forgetful of self in helping and 
comforting others. Why was this burden 
added to my soul : this love — so sweet — so 
dear — so cruelly precious. You see I do 
not even try to hide the truth from my 
own eyes or vindicate myself in the least. 
The realization of the best and worst life 
can hold for me has come too suddenly for 
that. I did not know where the tide was 
bearing me ! I fancied this contentment and 
peace came from my changed surroundings, 
and instead, it was due entirely to one per- 
son — and the whole world was beautiful and 
happy because he was near. 

The second box had simply: ‘‘MissMac- 
Tighe ” written on the cover in a firm and 
characteristic hand. Inside was a perfect 
mass of forget-me-nots and mignonettes tied 
with blue ribbon, and on them lay his card, 
on which was written: ^‘She sent you to 
me, be kind then, and pity my loneliness.” 
Oh, mother— mother, were you but here to- 
night for me to lean on ! If he is lonely — 
with wife, daughter, a beautiful home and 


A Dog-Day Journal. 69 

wealth — what am I, with none to turn to, 
eating my heart out in despair ? I am nearly 
twenty-three and should be self-reliant, I 
suppose, but I am not. I never knew before 
what this wonderful thing, love, could be, 
nor mean. 

Mrs. Dunkirk was speaking of marriage 
to-day, and said that after all the marriage 
de convenance had much in its favor : 

“There is nothing to be discovered after- 
ward that could cause great heart-ache on 
either side ; no illusions. In other words,” 
she continued, “I have known of several 
cases among my friends (although in Amer- 
ica it is not a custom as it is abroad), and 
they have turned out well — very well in- 
deed.” I could not help wondering if she 
had reference to her own marriage. 

How good and kind she has been to me 
from the first. When I showed her my 
flowers she was delighted with his selection, 
and dwelt at length upon his fondness for 
the beautiful ; that nothing distressed him 
more than to see the women of his family 
anything but well and becomingly dressed, 
and told of some of the lectures he would 
give Alice (their daughter) on the suit- 
ability of her garments as she grew into 


7o A Dog-Day Journal, 

womanhood. She seemed so much better 
and brighter than I have seen her in weeks. 
God bless you, my kind friend, you may 
sleep in peace and grow strong and well. I 
will watch over you as never patient was 
cared for by nurse before, until I can leave 
you in safety ; then I shall pass from the 
life of those at Scotch Hill farm and be but a 
remembrance. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


7i 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

I doubt the course I took no longer, 

Since those I love seem satisfied. 

The bond between them will grow stronger, 

As they go forward side by side ; 

Then will my pains be justified. 

Their joy is mine and that is best — 

I am not totally bereft ; 

For I have still the memory left 

Love has stopped with me — a Royal Guest ! 

—Paul Lawrence Dunbar. 

September 14th, 189-, 

I DECIDED during a sleepless night that 
the great point in my trial would be gained 
if I could appear perfectly natural in Mr. 
Dunkirk’s presence, even though this should 
be the most consummate bit of acting. I 
wrote on one of my cards on rising : 

‘‘Very many thanks for the beautiful 
flowers. Mrs. Dunkirk is much improved 
this morning.” And got Clarinda to be my 
messenger. 

The day passed uneventfully and at five 
o’clock I proposed taking a walk. Before 
leaving my patient, I saw that everything 


72 


A Dog Day Journal. 

was put to right in the room. I wished I 
could make the dear lady look a little more 
youthful, nevertheless she did fairly well and 
not only her flowers but mine were in vases 
on the table, which gave quite a festive air to 
the scene. 

On reaching the lower hall I saw the owner 
of a cheviot suit sauntering past the door, 
and as I went out onto the portico he retraced 
his steps, saying quite frankly as he removed 
his cap : 

‘‘I have been hoping you would come out 
while I was here ; there is just a touch of 
autumn in the atmosphere which makes it 
an ideal afternoon for pedestrians.” 

‘‘ It is delightful,” I replied, “ and I have 
been longing to be out of doors all day,” then 
changing my tone I added : ‘‘I have wanted 
to see you to-day, Mr. Dunkirk, to ask a favor 
of you.” 

‘‘ Eest assured it will be granted,” he was 
smiling as he had not done in a fortnight. 

I have such a feeling of responsibility 
when I leave Mrs. Dunkirk and go for a 
walk,” I began bravely, ‘‘ and I w’ondered if 
— if you would mind staying with her while 
I — I go out.” I could hardly finish my sen- 
tence, he was looking at me so strangely, a 


A Dog-Day Journal. 73 

great sadness creeping into his eyes, just 
the expression they had the night before his 
mother’s burial. All the light and gladness 
had been, as it were, snuffed out. I could 
not bear to look at him then, so half turned 
before continuing. She is quite ready to 
see you to-day ; — the Doctor said it could do 
her no harm.” Still, he remained silent. 
Fearing lest I should break forth into weep- 
ing I too said not a word for a few seconds ; 
then becoming angry at his indifference, I 
went on rapidly. ‘‘You can hardly know 
how very lonely it is for one to be shut away 
from those they love best. I know of no 
other woman, Mr. Dunkirk, who would have 
borne the illness of the past two weeks with 
such patience, and yet, you have never been 
near her save the two or three minutes you 
put your head inside the door to ask how 
she slept. She was more than a daugh- 
ter to your mother and you are neglecting 
a woman who is a veritable saint ; who has 
worn herself out in her duties as your wife 
and you don't appreciate her.” I was quite 
out of breath from excitement. When I 
began to speak I had trembled in every limb, 
but as I went on I gained new courage, and 
as I finished I turned to face him. He was 


74 A Dog-Day Journal. 

no longer at my side, but several steps away, 
his back towards me, leaning, as it were for 
support, both hands on a chair. 

Did you hear any of this from Flora?’’ 
he asked in smothered tones after a painful 
pause, without changing his position. 

Of course not ! ” I answered scornfully. 
‘ ‘ She is the most uncomplaining creature in 
the world.” Again there was silence, then 
he slowly turned and faced me : 

What a vile brute you must have thought 
me,” he said speculatively. There was such 
an expression in his eyes I could not meet 
them steadily, so I walked slowly down the 
steps and away, — for I did not dare to an- 
swer him just then. 

On my return I found Mrs. Dunkirk in 
the best of spirits. Her husband left the 
room just before I entered. 

Oh, if these two could but find true love 
and happiness somewhere ! 

But oh, my love, — my love, — how can I 
bear it 1 Death would be a blest relief I felt 
to-day. I want to do away with this dread 
thing, this love, that is sapping at the foun- 
dation of my heart and happiness. But it 
is precious to me, — more valued than life. 
This is madness, and I must put it aside ! 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


75 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Sweet is true love tho’ given in vain, — in vain, 

And sweet is death that puts an end to pain, 

I know not which is sweeter. 

No— not I.” 

Alfred Tennyson. 

September 15th, 189-. 

This morning Mrs. Dunkirk sat up for a 
few minutes but is not as strong as I had 
hoped she might be and she was soon glad 
to lie down again. Her weakness rather 
discouraged me, added to this her request 
that now she is convalescent I should resume 
taking my meals in the dining-room an- 
noyed me. There was nothing to do but to 
accede to her wish in the matter, but I can’t 
stand it. 

Mr. Dunkirk was scrupulously polite, in 
his attention at dinner and supper, but even 
as I glanced across the table, I caught him 
looking at me in the old way, but the expres- 
sion of curiosity and interest had given way 
to an odd twinkle, half tender, half amused, 
in his deep blue eyes. 


76 A Dog-Day Journal. 

Promptly at five o’clock he came to his 
wife’s room. It had been raining all the 
afternoon which had prevented my usual 
exercise and left me no place save my room 
for refuge. I tried to read, then write, 
finally I crept onto the bed and hid my head 
among the pillows to shut out the sound of 
his voice as he read and chatted with Mrs. 
Dunkirk. I thought I should cry out in my 
distress ! I see it is quite useless for me to 
try to conquer self and this wildly pulsing 
love, while under his roof. I must go 
away ! I shall tell the Doctor in the morn- 
ing that I must go. — It will be no falsehood 
to say I am not well, — for I never felt worse 
in my life. 

Yes, that is clearly the only course left 
me ; I must go at once — hut oh, — my love, 
— my love, — death would be easier than 
trying to live to-night. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


77 


CHAPTEK XX. 

Love virtue ; she alone is free ; 

She can teach ye how to climb 
Higher than the sphery clime ; 

Or if virtue feeble were 
Heaven itself would stoop to her. 

—John Milton. 

September 16th, 189-. 

Word was sent us this morning that 
Doctor Bascoe had been suddenly called 
away from home for a few days. 

I am trying neither to think, or feel, or 
see ; only waiting for his return to leave 
this house. I will prepare Mrs. Dunkirk so 
that my going will not be too great a sur- 
prise. Her husband (I try always to think 
of him as her husband) has asked me to 
drive with him to-day — of course I refused, 
perhaps rather too abruptly, and in conse- 
quence his brow darkened and he finished 
his dessert in silence. It would be so much 
easier if he had some avocation that took 
him to town each day ; but no, — there he is, 


78 A Dog-Day Journal. 

whenever I leave this part of the house, 
ready to speak to me. He is so gentle, so 
courteous, so kind, since that day in the 
portico. Could he but know how hard it is 
to bear he would surely have pity and absent 
himself until such time as I can leave. 

Who is it that says, 

“The sweetest joy, the wildest woe, is love ; 

“The taint of earth, the odor of the skies, is in it.” 

Truly he knew whereof he wrote. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


79 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

My muse doth not delight 
Me as she dyd before, 

My hand and pen are not in plight, 

As they have been of yore, 

—Sir Thomas Wyatt. 

Scotch Hill,” September 18th, 189-. 
My Dear Child : — 

As I said in my last letter that after the 
twentieth instant I should give up telegraph- 
ing your mother’s daily progress to you, as 
the rate per word is rather steep from here 
to the Golden Gate, I thought it best to 
write to-day so that the waiting for my first 
letter might not be too long and prove a 
time of anxiety to you. 

Flora begins to sit up a short time each 
day and seems to enjoy it. This enforced 
rest has done her a world of good and she 
has become at least ten years younger in 
her appearance. She was allowed to read 
your letters yesterday and to-day a number 


8o 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

of others we had kept from her. Doctor 
Bascoe says it must be a case of ^festtna 
lente ; but by the time you come she will be 
about the house once more, please Heaven, 
and fully able to enjoy your visit and master 
Jack’s pranks. 

Miss MacTighe begins to show what she 
has gone through. She has been indefatiga- 
ble in her devotion, and care of your mother. 
I never knew what constant and arduous 
work fell to the lot of a trained nurse. 

An odd and yet natural mistake has oc- 
curred and I wish you were here to clear 
matters up for me, for I am such a sorry old 
chap at such times and always say and do 
the wrong thing. I had better not try to 
explain more fully, until you come, as no 
two people were ever known to read a letter 
the same way and I would not have you 
think other than you do of me. 

Doctor Bascoe has been away for several 
days. Some relative sent for him in consul- 
tation. Your mother, however, has had 
every attention in the meantime that her 
faithful little nurse could devise. 

When your mother has entirely recovered 
I think somewhat of starting off on one of 
my prowls to some distant land. Don’t you 


A Dog-Day Journal. 8i 

want to lend me your husband as compan- 
ion ? 

I am rather grumpy to-night and as 
stupid as an owl, so I had best bid you 
farewell. 

Affectionately yours. 
Thomas Dunkirk. 

6 


82 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ As for forgetting, ’tis a thing I know not nor will 
know : 

For none but thou into my thought shalt enter.” 

— From the Arabic. 

September 20th, 189-. 

They say Doctor Bascoe returns home late 
this evening and I shall go to him in the 
morning. I would rather go to his office than 
speak to him here, and after to-day life under 
this roof is impossible. The more I try to 
shut my heart, the more it seems filled with 
this all-consuming love for one who can 
never be mine. I hardly know myself. I 
have become quite different in these last few 
weeks. I am certain if I do not get away 
from here I shall be ill, for I can neither eat 
or sleep. Oh I must leave, for if I should be 
sick where will the bread and butter come 
from. 

As Mr. Dunkirk did not come to his wife’s 
room to-day, I sent him word by Clarinda 
at five o’clock, that I was going out for my 


A Dog-Day Journal. 83 

walk and that Mrs. Dunkirk was waiting for 
him ; then I went down-stairs. On passing 
the library door I was startled at its being 
thrown open, and Mr. Dunkirk taking my 
hand drew me quickly within the room. It 
was so totally unexpected, that I made no 
resistance whatever ; in a second I had over- 
come my surprise and in a measure my agi- 
tation, and wrenching my hand from his 
grasp, I moved towards the door, saying 
coldly : 

‘‘Mrs. Dunkirk will he waiting for you.” 

“ Oh, no,” he answered, “ I sent her a note 
by Clarinda, who is to stay with her this 
afternoon.” Noting my look of indignation 
he continued : “Don’t be so angry. She 
thinks I am engaged on business, — and so I 
am, — the most serious business of my life, — 
for we must, you and I, have an explana- 
tion.” His last words disturbed me greatly. 
At any cost, thought I, he must go no fur- 
ther, — the ground we were treading was too 
dangerous. 

“ There are some things, Mr. Dunkirk, that 
only silence can explain,” I interrupted 
haughtily, “and this is a time when it is 
golden. Believe me,” I implored, as he 
shook his head deprecatingly, for I was 


84 A Dog-Day Journal. 

willing to plead on my knees if he would but 
heed me, “ believe me, it is true ; nothing can 
be gained through explanations. In a few 
days I will leave your house, — I hope to go 
to-morrow, — then, that we may never meet 
again on earth, will be my most earnest 
prayer ! ” 

“Hush!’’ he exclaimed sternly. “Don’t 
say such a thing ! ” he seemed like a lion 
lashing himself into fury. “ It is because you 
do not know and cannot understand that you 
talk in this way. Why, you are a mere child 
compared to me, — when life should be hap- 
piest and brightest, — and because of a whim, 
— an exaggerated fancy, — you must try to 
dash what sweetness I might still have re- 
maining in life from my lips, as well as 
cloud your future years. I tell you, I won’t 
allow it, you must listen to me ! ” and he 
came towards me. 

I was trembling from head to foot and 
could not fly from him, but clung for support 
to an old pier table at my side. My good 
angel, was near me, for as I cast down my 
eyes fearing to meet his, I chanced to notice 
his daughter’s photograph. The sight of that 
sweet face so like her mother’s could not fail 
to bring him to reason, so holding it towards 


. A Dog-Day Journal. 85 

him I said in a shaking voice I tried in vain 
to steady : 

Look at your child, and oh, have pity on 
me ! ’’ He snatched the card from my hand 
and with a savage laugh threw it far from 
him, saying as he did so : 

She is no daughter of mine, — although 
as dear to me as it is possible for another 
man’s child to be.” This then was the secret 
of his youthfulness, he is Mrs. Dunkirk’s 
second husband. Things were nevertheless 
unchanged between us and I turned again 
to leave him when he caught my hand and 
holding it closely in both of his, begged of 
me in gentler tones, to reconsider my deci- 
sion and remain beneath his roof as long as 
possible, — for Flora’s sake if not for his. To 
which request I shook my bead vehemently. 

“ Won’t you at least,” he pleaded try to 
trust me and believe I would not harm so 
much as a hair of your dear little head ? ” 
‘‘I shall with a sharp intaking of 

breath, ‘‘to forget that you ever existed,” 
and snatching away my hand, fled precipi- 
tately from his presence. 

It was an hour before I could compose 
myself sufficiently to leave the summer 
house at the end of the garden where I had 


86 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

taken refuge and return to my duties. Mrs. 
Dunkirk had not been in need of me fortu- 
nately, for Clarinda had remained true to 
her charge and I found her entertaining her 
with some of her droll sayings. The dear 
lady noticed my pale cheeks and red eyes 
and began to worry about my health. I told 
her it was only a bad headache and that in 
the morning I would go to Doctor Bascoe. 

‘‘He might advise my leaving you.’’ I 
tried to speak lightly, although my heart 
was like lead. “ My only ailment is lazi- 
ness, I fear, you are all so good to me I have 
not enough to occupy me now you are con- 
valescent.” 

“ The patient, as well as the physician, 
will have something to say as to when you 
leave here,” she answered quickly with all 
her old time decisiveness. “ If you are not 
well, this is your proper place and I shall 
have you nursed back to health.” My eyes 
filled with the too- ready tears, she is so good 
to me, and I pressed her hand in lieu of 
thanks. Poor woman, she little knows her 
life’s happiness depends upon my going. 

I dreaded supper time for my head ached 
horribly and I knew that I looked quite a 
fright, but above every other consideration 


• A Dog-Day Journal. 87 

was the thought of having to meet Mr. 
Dunkirk. There was no occasion for my 
anxiety on that score, however, for I found 
he had gone out and the table was set only 
for me. For this thoughtfulness I thank 
him, oh so much, — perhaps his own heart 
knows how much. 

How I wish I could forget him, but alas, 
how useless the effort to do so would be. I 
will live my life as my mother did ; true to 
the great and only love of her heart. Dear 
mother, how often she told me that I was a 
comfort to her. I am so alone, — and none 
have I to turn to for comfort, save to this 
great hopeless love in my life. 


88 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Beware of desperate steps, the darkest day, 

Live till to-morrow, will have passed away. 

— William Cowper. 

September 21st, 189-. 

What a day this has been ! How can I 
possibly condense it into a few written 
pages, and yet, little book, you have been 
such a comfort to me, such a faithful, silent 
friend, I must tell you all, — all. 

I went down to breakfast prepared for my 
intended expedition and again found that I 
was to be alone, the waitress informing me 
that Mr. Dunkirk had breakfasted in his 
room. How thoughtful it was of him, but 
then is he not always thinking of others 
more than of himself ? 

As I came from the dining-room I found 
him standing in the portico, his watch in 
his hand, and without turning towards me 
he observed tranquilly, as if he were cog- 
nizant of my every plan : 

‘‘You have just time to reach the road com- 


A Dog-Day Journal. 89 

fortably before the trolley comes. It is due 
at the gate in five minutes.” I thanked him 
hurriedly and ran down the steps to the 
drive, then descended each of the terraces, 
not daring to look back for I still believed 
him to be watching me. 

How much has passed since that August 
day I first passed within those gates ! How 
ignorant I was of what fate held in store for 
me ! 

It took but a few minutes to reach Doctor 
Bascoe’s trim, cosy little home. Old bach- 
elor, and a quaintly crabbed one at that, 
was written largely all over the premises. 
The old gentleman stood on a chair in his 
porch pruning the vines. On seeing me he 
motioned me to take a seat near by, saying 
in a half gruff voice, that with my permis- 
sion he would continue his work, as he had 
but little time for his garden and ‘‘of course 
I found things as sixes and sevens after a 
week’s absence.” He was very glad I had 
come, as he wished to hear about his patient 
at “Scotch Hill,” and it would make one 
less visit for him to make. 

“On the contrary. Doctor Bascoe, it is the 
one visit I am anxious for you to make to- 
day,” I interrupted. 


90 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

‘‘ Is she worse ? ’’ he thundered, wheeling 
round and stepping from his chair. 

‘‘ Oh, no,” I hastened to assure him. He 
was looking at me fixedly, seeming to find 
something amiss. ‘‘You are right in your 
surmise, sir ; you can see, and I know, that 
I need a rest. If possible I should like to 
leave to-day,” I concluded after a moment. 

“ South wrote me that you had neither 
parents or home. Why then don’t you re- 
main where you are ? ” I shook my head 
violently. ‘ ‘ They have become fond of you, ” 
— he stood before me reasoning as with a 
child — “ and would be glad for any event 
that would keep you with them. Tom said 
as much last night when he spoke of your 
looking badly . . . and you do,” — becoming 

quite fierce and angry, — “you look d d 

badly. They had no right to half kill you 
between them,” and he pattered off into the 
house, returning a moment later with a bot- 
tle which he told me in his rough, yet kindly 
way, he wished to see empty in a week. I 
thanked him and consented to take every 
drop, then returned to the subject in hand, 
— my leaving Mrs. Dunkirk. 

“Well she canH do without you until her 
daughter comes,” he snapped back. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 91 

That will not be for two whole weeks,” 
I pleaded, and she has so many she can call 
on, several competent maids and Clarinda 
to run her errands. Besides,” I continued 
after a pause, Mr. Dunkirk is there nearly 
the whole of every day and could surely help 
her in many ways. Her husband should 
stay with her,” I concluded with convic- 
tion. 

‘‘Her husband!” he echoed, looking at 
me with amazement. “Her — husband, did 
you say ? ” then suddenly, the ridiculous old 
man broke into such a paroxysm of laughter, 
choking, sputtering and turning red in the 
face, I became really alarmed and started to 
my feet. He waved me off with his hand 
as he gasped : 

“Why — my — child, — she wouldn’t care — 
to— have him — in the least,” again he shook 
with uncontrollable mirth. “ For twenty- 
one years, ha-ha, — to my certain knowledge, 
he’s — ha-ha, ho-ho, — ha-ha-ha-ha, — he’s been 
dead ! ” He seemed fairly to shriek the last 
three words as again he burst forth in loud 
guffaws of merriment. 

Oh, what a fool I had been ! What an 
innate idiot. What did these two men think 
of me, . . . two men ? . . . why, the whole 


92 A Dog-Day Journal. 

household had doubtless been making game 
of my mistake. Blind fool, that I had 
been ! 

How I left Doctor Bascoe's I hardly re- 
member, I seemed benumbed ; I have an 
indistinct recollection of his patting my hand 
in a fatherly way, telling me to go home 
and be a good little girl and I would “find old 
mother Earth a firstrate place to live in be- 
fore very long.'’ Then I went down the tiny 
gravel path between the green grass and 
began to walk blindly along the dusty road 
in the direction from which I came. I had 
gone but a short distance when I ran against 
Mr. Dunkirk who was standing by the pony 
carriage at the bend of the turnpike. It did 
not seem in the least surprising that he 
should be there, so dazed was I by the dis- 
closure of the last half hour. Mechanically 
I obeyed him when he told me to take my 
seat as he intended driving me home, and a 
moment later he was beside me and we were 
bowling towards Scotch Hill. Neither of us 
spoke until we turned into a wooded lane that 
leads to the rear of the house, then he laid 
his left hand on both of mine and holding 
them closely, said tenderly as if comforting 
a sorrowful child ; 


93 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

‘‘ None know of this very natural mistake 
save the Doctor and you and I,— and none 
need ever hear of it, dear. I did not know 
you had mistaken me for my elder brother 
until a few days since, and I could not make 
you understand because I am such a con- 
summate ass. ...” 

“ Please,— pZease,” I pleaded, don’t say 
any more. You have been all that is good 
and kind, — but oh — what must you think of 
me.” I cried despairingly, bursting into a 
passion of tears and dropping my head on 
my knees. 

He had stopped the little nag that drew 
us, for we were now near the outbuldings 
although still hidden from view by the trees 
and shrubbery. 

‘‘What I think of you,” he answered 
quietly after a moment’s silence, “ I will not 
tell you to-day, my bonnie lassie. Once I 
see you safely indoors, I am going away 
from home for a time. Oh, yes, I am,” he 
insisted as I raised my head to expostulate 
with him, “but I shall not be gone for more 
than a week. When I return every one at 
Scotch Hill will have settled down in their 
accustomed grooves, and then, little woman,” 
he added, the light of a great hope shining 


94 A Dog-Day Journal. 

in his eyes as he took my chin in his hand 
and turned my face up to his, ‘‘you and I 
will have to have a long, long talk ; — until 
then, dear bairn,— God bless you,” — and 
bending swiftly he kissed me between the 
eyes and before I realized what had happened 
he gathered up the reins, clucked to the 
pony, drove past the barns and up to the 
side entrance to the house where he lifted 
me out as if I had been a child, then without 
a word, left me. 

I waited for a time, thinking he was surely 
not in earnest about leaving home, but all 
doubt fled as I heard a familiar piping voice 
at my side : 

“You mouths well go inside. Miss Lettie, 
for Mars Tom’s done gon’. He jes’ chuck 
de reins — so — to Ben at ’e f ron’ do’ and takes 
his baig an’ is gon \ — its all true,” seeming 
to think I may question the veracity of her 
statement, “its true, true, black an’ blue,” 
skipping about to the time of her dittie. 
What did she care, happy little blackie, 
whether “ Mars Tom ” was near or 
far ? 

I Anally returned to my room feeling as if 
I had lived years instead of moments since 
leaving it ; or wakened from a nightmare 


95 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

that had a strangely happy ending. I still 
feel as if all the old heartache would perhaps 
return. Who could have foreseen this 
morning how happy I should he to-night ? 


96 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

No love is like a sister’s love, 

Unselfish, free and pur© — 

A flame that, lighted from above, 

Will guide, but never allure : 

It knows no form of jealous fear. 

No blush of conscious guile ; 

The wrongs are pardoned through a tear, 

Its hope crown’d by a smile. 

— ELizi.BiTH Fry. 

September 24th, 189-. 

On the breakfast table this morning a 
square box stood by my plate. On opening 
it, the room was filled with the most deli- 
cious fragrance of violets. There was 
neither card nor message with them ; the 
flowers told their own tale. 

‘‘A boy don’ lef’ ’em jes’ so, please ma’am ! ” 
said the waitress ; then coming nearer, peered 
round my shoulder into the box of delicious 
blossoms. “ My law, Miss Lettie, peers like 
dey’ll be groin’ co’n in winter next ! See 
dem blessid vi’lets, jes’ as purt an’ happy, 
same es it was May, — but do set down, Miss, 


A Dog-Day Journal. 97 

an’ let me gives you yo’ coffee whilst it’s 
hot.” 

On going up-stairs I took them to his sis- 
ter, — how I love to write that word sister, — 
and she knew at once who had sent them, 
and teased me a little about them. 

‘‘ Mrs. Dunkirk, while you were only joking 
me just now,” — my voice was unsteady from 
emotion — ‘ ‘this is very serious to me. I think, 
— I feel sure, — indeed you should be told.” 
She looked at me tenderly, as if to encour- 
age my confidence, then held out her arms 
to me, and as I knelt by her bedside 
she folded me in a warm embrace. “ I 
have no woman of whom to ask advice 
save my father’s sister, who makes her home 
in Italy,” I continued. “ My only other rel- 
ative, my mother’s brother, I have never 
seen, and he is living in Colorado. But 
won’t you help me, — I want to do what is 
right ? ” 

“Hush, dear, — hush,” Mrs. Dunkirk mur- 
mured soothingly, for I was crying my 
heart out. She smoothed my hair from my 
brow with her gentle fingers for some little 
time, then began to speak in a low voice : 

‘ ‘ Tom told me all about it yesterday, how 
he has cared for you from almost the first 
7 


98 A Dog-Day Journal. 

day you came. He feared lest the telling of 
his great love might prove slightly bewilder- 
ing, — as you were evidently so unconscious 
of his feeling toward you, and for that rea- 
son he deemed it best to go to town for a few 
days, that you might have time to consider 
before giving him your final answer. I have 
promised not to try to infiuence you in the 
matter, — but, — oh, my dear, — my dear, — he 
has a heart of gold and a soul as tender as a 
woman’s for those he loves ; — he is more like 
a son to me than a brother-in-law ; — you see 
he was so much younger than my dear hus- 
band. Of course you must do just as you 
think best in the matter, — but if possible 
accept his hand, for you have become the 
very apple of his eye, — and I could not bear 
this sorrow to come to him just now.” 

It needed but this to make me tell her all, 
and we two silly women cried and kissed 
each other, and were very happy until I sud- 
denly remembered that I was still a trained 
nurse, and that this dear, motherly soul was 
my patient. The excitement did her no 
harm, I am glad to say, but rather gave her 
something to think about. 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


99 


CHAPTER XXV. 

O happiness I our being’s end and aim I 
Good pleasure, ease, content ! whate’er thy name : 
That something still which prompts th’ eternal sigh, 
For which we bear to live, or dare to die. 

Alexander Pope. 

September 23d, 189-. 

Another beautiful day in this beautiful 
world, and at breakfast I was greeted by a 
great bunch of pink chrysanthemums, just 
the shade of the heart of a watermelon. 

Now that Mrs. Dunkirk knows of my lit- 
tle tale of love and does not disapprove, I 
am as happy as a bird. She speaks con- 
stantly of my future, and I don’t doubt has 
many little plans mapped out for our hap- 
piness, dear, good soul that she is. 


LofC. 


100 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for ‘ somebody.* 

Oh hon, for ‘ somebody ! ’ 

Oh hey, for ‘ somebody ! ’ 

I wad do, — what wad I not, 

For the sake o’ ‘ somebody.’ ” 

— Old Scotch Song, 

September 24th, 189-. 

This has been a horrid day, damp and 
gloomy without, and, must I confess it, 
rather lonely within doors. I find I am long- 
ing for ‘‘ somebody’s” return. I miss a cer- 
tain familiar step, the glimpse of a cheviot 
suit, or an occasional whiff of good tobacco, 
as I go from room to room. The very fact 
that the doors stand open everywhere, and 
I am privileged to go where I please without 
the fear of meeting a big man, with a fine, 
strong face (rather than handsome), who 
looks down at me with such a kindly smile, 
but adds to the feeling of emptiness in things 
about me. 

This morning I received no fiowers, and 


lOI 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

fear from my sensation of disappointment I 
am becoming a very selfish young damsel. 
The others are still quite fresh, and I must 
guard against being too grasping when my 
cup of happiness is already so brimming full. 

LATER. 

My flowers have come, — and those I love 
best, — lilies-of-the-valley. The note that ac- 
companied them was an humble apology 
from the florist. At least I know he thought 
of me, — but, oh, — I wish he would come 
himself. 


102 


A Dog- Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, 

No chemic art can counterfeit ; 

It makes men rich in greatest poverty, 

Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold. 

The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain ; 

Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, 

That much in little — all in nought — content. 

— John Wilbye. 

September 25th, 189-. 

Yesterday’s rain washed the skies quite 
clean, and there are no clouds to be seen 
save a few fleecy white ones hung out to 
dry. 

To-day my flowers were again mignonette 
and forget-me-nots, but in how different a 
spirit I received them from the first he 
sent me. 

What a difference the sun makes ! I am 
quite a changed being from yesterday’s girl 
in the dumps, and it’s all on account of you, 
you dear old chap, shining up there in the 
heavens. Then, too, I am so delighted with 
Mrs. Dunkirk’s condition ; she has improved 


A Dog-Day Journal. 103 

wonderfully in the last two days. This 
morning she was out on the upper gallery 
for an hour, and did not seem in the least 
fatigued. How very pleased he will be to 
find her so much better. 

While she took her nap this afternoon, I 
ran down the terrace walk to work off a por- 
tion of this exuberance of spirit, and at the 
lower level I found Clarinda perched upon 
the gate-post looking wistfully down the 
road. 

‘‘What’s the matter, child?” I asked. 
Something in her attitude impressed me. 

“ Nothin’ much, please ma’am.” She clam- 
bered down from her elevated seat and, 
coming close, continued: “It’s jes’ that 
lonely in the big house, I com’ down here to 
see if he wuz cornin’ yet.” Poor little soul, 
she felt his absence, too ; so I took her in tow 
and we took a walk together. Just as we 
were about to part, she asked wistfully, 
“ Miss Lettie, you wouldn’t do him no harm, 
would you, please ma’am ? ” 

“ Why, child, what do you mean ?” 

“Well, you see, please ma’am, maw and 
the gals was a-sayin’ if yu wuz to give him 
de go-by it might do him harm. You mus’ 
’scuse me, please ma’am. Miss Lettie, but I 


104 A Dog-Day Journal. 

think a sight on him,” and her dark eyes 
filled. 

“Your master is so good and kind, Cla- 
rinda, I feel sure none would harm him 
willingly,” was my only reply as I mounted 
the steps, but all the old horror of ridicule 
had broken loose once more in my heart, 
and I longed to run away and hide my head 
until my common sense asserted itself again 
and leaves me now in peace and contentment. 
I am afraid to think of the future, it almost 
frightens me in its possibilities of happiness. 


A Dog- Day Journal. 


loS 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

O subtle love, a thousand wiles thou hast, 

By humble suit, by service, or by hire, 

To win a maiden’s heart — a thing soon done : 

For nature framed all women to be w^on. 

Torguato Tasso. 

September 26th, 189-. 

Mrs. Dunkirk enjoys receiving her let- 
ters so much. I should not know what to 
do with such a host of correspondents. This 
morning’s mail brought one from ‘‘Mars’ 
Tom.” She read me extracts from it— of 
the inquiries her friends had made of her 
health — that he could give her no definite 
time for his arrival — that he was really en- 
joying his visit very much, having found 
that a number of his friends had returned 
from their summer wanderings. Among 
others, Charlie Vexer, who told him what a 
trying time they had had with his mother, 
and they wanted to secure a nurse for her she 
had during the early part of the season, but 


io6 A Dog-Day Journal. 

could not find her whereabouts. Then he 
sent me his very kindest regards. I re- 
ceived no fiowers all day. I wonder when 
he will come 1 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


107 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

The fountains mingle with the river, 

And the river with the ocean ; 

The winds of heaven mix forever 
With a sweet emotion ; 

All things by a law divine, 

In one another’s being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 

Percy B. Shelley. 

September 27th, 189-. 

Mrs. Dunkirk is usually the most placid 
of women, but this morning was the excep- 
tion which proved the rule, for she was in a 
fidget from the time she wakened until 
three hours later she was seated in her 
favorite chair by the window, when she 
said : 

‘‘ Now, my dear, I am quite comfortable, 
save for one thing and that you can bring 
me. It is a small white ivory box you will 
find on the left hand corner of the table 
nearest the fireplace in the library.” 

This same room is very long, which makes 
it appear rather narrow, but it is essentially 


io8 A Dog-Day Journal. 

a cosy room with its long, well-filled book- 
case running the entire length, and comfort- 
able chairs, while three large tables occupy 
the center in a straight line equidistant 
from door to fireplace. The third from the 
entrance was the table on which the desired 
box lay, and just as I drew near to it I heard 
the door by which I had entered close softly 
and turning sharply round beheld Mr. Dun- 
kirk coming towards me. With a cry of 
delight I sprang forward, then remem- 
brance, that bane as w'ell as pleasure, pushed 
her way unasked into my heart and I began 
hurriedly to account to him for my pres- 
ence in his domains. 

‘ ‘ Suppose we shake hands and you bid 
me welcome home before you get the box,’’ 
he said, a happy smile on his lips and a light 
of goodness in his eyes. 

“ I am indeed very glad to see you.” I 
answered, trying to control my nervousness, 
and put out my hand to clasp his. It did 
not end there however ; — he drew me into a 
close embrace and asked if I had missed 
him. 

‘‘ Oh, yes, yes !” I cried, struggling to free 
myself. Happiness seemed approaching so 
near I was afraid of it. ‘‘ But the box,— you 


A Dog-Day Journal. 109 

forget the box, — and Mrs. Dunkirk will be 
awaiting my return with it.” 

‘‘Never mind about the box,” he an- 
swered laughingly. “To be sure you will 
take it up-stairs presently as it contains an 
engagement ring for you.” Seeing my as- 
tonishment he added : “ My sister sent you 
here at this hour at my request that you 
might be the first to greet me,” he then re- 
leased me but not before he kissed me on the 
lips. “Come,” he continued, bringing for- 
ward an easy-chair, “sit here and let me 
talk to you a little while. He strode up and 
down with long swinging strides, while I, 
from the leather depths of my chair, watched 
him with tender interest. He began by 
saying he had always felt that for any hope 
of happiness in marriage there should be 
perfect frankness on both sides ; for love 
without true, strong friendship to support 
it, made but a pitiful bargain at best. 
Then he told me of his early life and that as 
a younger man he had loved and been be- 
loved by a very beautiful woman of his 
own age, who after a time had wearied of 
him and married another. This had em- 
bittered his life for years and he had learned 
to devote himself to his widowed mother 


no 


A Dog-Day Journal. 

and sister and his little niece. While not 
millionaires they had always been able to 
live in comfort, and their interests being 
principally landed, it took the greater part 
of his time to look after their estate : 

“ I fear my age may stand in the light of 
a great disadvantage, as I am your senior 
by sixteen years ; ” he smiled half wistfully 
down on me, ‘‘but I have from the first 
felt Providence sent you to me. That eve- 
ning you came to me, I had dropped into a 
dose after several sleepless nights, — and had 
a strange dream : — I was with my mother, 
begging of her not to leave me. She con- 
vinced me it was best for her to go, and con- 
cluded in this way : ‘ some one is coming 
who will comfort your heart and take my 
place ; I am sending her to you,’ and at that 
moment I heard you calling to me. I had 
cared for you almost from the first, — after 
that I looked upon you as my own.” Stop- 
ping before me he bent and took my hands 
in his. “ Look up at me, sweetheart,” he 
pleaded, “and give me my answer, — for I 
am anhungered for you, my little woman.” 

“ Having told me this, it is but right I 
should try to tell you of my past,” I began. 

“ Nay,— nay, love,” he interrupted with a 


A Dog-Day Journal. iii 

bright smile, ‘‘ you have unconsciously told 
me your whole life’s story in answering my 
many questions in our daily walks. There 
is but one thing I care to know just now, — 
do you love me ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” I cried, trying to hide my crim- 
son face. ‘‘I have worn my heart on my 
sleeve ! All the world could see how it was 
with me. I am not good, or great, or bright 
enough to — to — ” by this time two arms 
were about me and — well, after a time 
we took the ivory box to Flora’s room and 
showed her the ring glistening on my finger, 
and — 1 am very happy, — and Tom seemed 
very happy too. 


II2 


A Dog-Day Journal. 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

Home is the sacred refuge of our life ; 

Secured from all approaches but a wife. 

—John Dryden. 

“ Oh happy’s the wooing, 

That’s not long a-doing.” 

— Old Proverb. 

August 15th, 189-. 

Again the ‘‘dog-days” are with us, and 
Tom has been in town in the heat all day, 
while I in my cool, cosy room have spent 
the afternoon putting my desk in order, and 
came by chance upon this dear former confi- 
dant of mine, with the last page still un- 
scribbled. As I read it through I thought 
what a silly girl I must have been ; and yet 
I am quite as happy and certainly just as 
much in love with my goodman, whose 
wife I have been for nearly a year. We 
were married in October. 

Sister Flora returns from the west early 
next week and agrees with us in the old 
adage: “East, west, one’s home’s best.” 


THE END. 



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JAN 2^902* 





1 CCPY DEL. TO CAT. OlV. 

. JAN. 2- 1902 





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